Smiling Monster
by Reika
Summary: Yuki. Hiro. Shuichi. Cake, angst and sadism. Though not necessarily in that order. YukiShu, HiroShu.


Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue. 

Fandom: Gravitation

Pairing: Yuki/Shu, Hiro/Shu

Archive: E-mail me please.

Summary: Yuki, Hiro, Shuichi. Cake, angst and sadism, though not necessarily in that order. 

A/N: Hello, peoples!

This was a little morbid idea I had floating around in my brain while I was sick, and since it is a one-shot, I decided to write it out to refresh my skills after my two-month absence. I am happy to say that I am feeling much better. Thanks to all my TFC readers for their support through all that. I'm going to get back into that story now, and I can't wait to finish it!

This is an angsty little piece I wanted to get out of my system. Be warned, there is steamyness ahead. Not terribly graphic, but it warrants a warning, I think. Please, *please* review and let me know how it is, as I haven't written in two months and need to know if my work has slipped. 

Smiling Monster

*******************************

"Yuki!"   
  
Nothing.   
  
"Yuki!"   
  
Still. Nothing.   
  
"Yuuukkkiiii!"   
  
A muffled grunt…rustling of clothes…yes…that's it…the chair is moving backwards…he's coming towards the door…he's closer now…you can almost *smell* him – slightly ruffled and pissed off and just the hint of aftershave with sweat and cigarettes and so blessedly *male* and so exquisitely *him* …and…he's…Locking. The. Door.   
  
You beat your tiny fists against the barrier again. They are the hands of a-boy-not-yet-and-possibly-never-a-man. They are generally small and dainty like the rest of you – fit for lazily summer days, scrawling lyrics or being kept and pet by seemingly always preoccupied grumpy boyfriends.   
  
You hope you don't break a nail. You are not fit for manual labor…or banging against unyielding doors. Really.   
  
Leave that to those other men – with their rough and large hands with dirty chewed off finger nails. Even for your slight size, your hands are petite; delicate and almost child-sized without the chubbiness and grime. They have never been any other way and you have never minded much. You hadn't wanted to do hard labor anyway.   
  
You've even been told that they were pretty by more than one person. Just like your wide eyes, royal violet and eternally innocent. And your strawberry hair, baby soft and always, always smelling like the first days of spring. You really are such a Pretty. Little. Thing.   
  
And yet.   
  
You are still alone in the hallway, running your really very valuable voice raw.   
  
Somehow, the rawness always seems inconsequential when caused by the involuntary utterance of a novelist's name-not-his-own over and over until your throat feels as ravished as your skin. And you hardly think you would even notice the soreness of your knees, had you dropped to them willingly, helplessly.   
  
As it is, your voice (worth more than those precious novels now) is starting to annoy even you with it's peaks of whine and valleys of sudden harshness; and you swear that when K again acquaints you with his super-duper-steel-and-lead-motivational-tool (as he no doubt will) tomorrow morning, you are *not* going to hesitate before telling him (and quite truthfully) that it is all *Yuki's* fault!   
  
"Yuki! C'mon…it was just one chapter! You can make it up later! You promised to spend time with me today! I'm sooorrry!"   
  
The wood of the door feels cool against your frustrated brow. You don't remember breaking a sweat, but unless the sprinklers have turned on (and you are *positive* that you did not leave another 'special Shu cake' in the oven) that is indeed perspiration on your forehead. You ponder the supreme unfairness of it – sweating, with sore knees and a voice harsh and thick – all alone in the hall.   
  
His voice is gruffy and you have to concentrate to catch all the syllables muttered around his Marlboro and through the door.   
  
"That one chapter was already three weeks late, brat. Perhaps that'll teach you not to touch other people's things." You hear him rolling his chair back and forth briskly the way he does when he's just preparing to write, or trying to clear his mind. When his voice returns it is with more cigarette-free clarity, although the words seem meant more for himself than for you. "…can't even be trusted to play solitaire without screwing up and accidentally deleting something…"   
  
Defeated, you sit back on your haunches, pleased with the stretch of calf muscles and the little 'pop' of your lower back. You are almost insulted. Or perhaps you are insulted – but with all the games and diversionary tactics and just plain living with Yuki you are unable to tell the difference. You had always thought Yuki would be more observant. Maybe he's working too hard. Yes. Definitely. And if he would just unlock the stupid door you're certain you and your aching (and most likely purpling) knees could convince him of that.   
  
Breaking promises is what got his silly chapter deleted in the first place. Solitaire. Really.   
  
You can't stand to be left alone and find the very title of the game horrifying.   
  
Perhaps Yuki was never so observant to begin with.   
  
You need a new plan. Although the current one has thrice awarded you a pleasant little tinge of satisfaction laced with just the barest hint of sadism it is, on the whole, counter-productive. After all, Yuki just spends more time locked away trying to make up the lost work and you never really pegged yourself as much of a sadist anyway.   
  
On a more…urgent note. What to do?   
  
You are confident that the sprinklers *could* be on and the source of the fire could very well be your *face* and Yuki would exit his office long enough only to remind you that it was undoubtedly your own stupidity that got you into such an inflammable mess in the first place. And perhaps to grab another beer.   
  
There are many games in the house, but it stopped being fun playing by yourself sometime between your one thousandth victory at chess (which you haven't the slightest clue how to play, but your opponent never seems to mind) and your twenty-second birthday. You suspect that you might not really want to play that kind of game if you had a willing partner; as all children grow up, even those of the pink-haired already grown variety.   
  
So no…playing with yourself would not do. Not today.   
  
You could bake a cake. Yes. You could bake a delicious cake, and if the infectiously yummy aroma did not draw Yuki out, you could still have it waiting for him when he is finally finished. He can help you frost it. Between the two of you, you're sure the extra frosting would not go to waste. Except that you have already thought of fire twice in the last fifteen minutes and that is never a good omen. Somehow you doubt you could get Yuki to lick frosting off of you if you are standing in something that *used* to be his kitchen.   
  
No, then…cake is out until an oven is invented that can handle your culinary genius.   
  
You would write some new lyrics, but do not foresee your fans enjoying or comprehending songs about the woe that is being shut out from the one you love more than life or cake itself.   
  
You suppose you'll have to go to Hiro's. You hadn't planned on seeing him today, after last time's minor argument, but harbor no doubts that he'll need only a little persuasion to let you in. Just in case the puppy eyes don't work, you'll have to remember to wear the faintest sheen of lip gloss. He always seems to like that. It's that whole 'Yuki Thing' he has a problem with. But there's nothing for it – every relationship has it's issues.   
  
Leaving a note for Yuki, you sweep up your bag and head out of the apartment. He most likely won't even notice that you've gone until he has to relieve himself or get another beer. But should he worry (which you know he does, much to his own chagrin), he'll know that you are only eating pizza and talking music with your trusty sidekick. Yuki has never had a problem with Hiro. He is, after all, your best friend. You and the novelist have a stable partnership; and through the long hours, tour schedules, and polar opposite personalities, in the end, it is only the two of you.   
  
Except that it isn't.   
  
It's you and him and his laptop, and Tohma-possesive-control-freak Seguchi, and his pride, and ASK and Kitazawa Yuki who manages to crawl through the grave and into your bedroom every single night.   
  
To someone (such as yourself) who really only wants to be enough for one person, it's nice to be someone else's everything once in a while. Hiro can show you and your knees the attention they deserve, surely.   
  
You know that this game will have to end someday and that it will most likely end in tragedy; but you do not intend to be the loser. Not so long ago, Tohma got that knowing gleam in his eye after witnessing an innocent moment between yourself and Hiro. He plastered on that gaze he seems to think is stern and using the voice he seems to think is commanding said "Shindou-san, I'm sure Yuki is wondering where you are. Bad Luck is finished for the day."   
  
It took you only a week of careful observation and a few well planned conversations to remind Mr. Head of NG that while he may run your record label, you are it's star. The media doesn't pay particular attention to CEOs, but they simply love scantily dressed pink haired singers. It is true that Tohma has his own claim to fame yes, but although you were never a whiz at math the equation is simple. Sakuma Ryuichi = Nittle Grasper. You have had many discussions with Ryu about his growing desire to go solo again. So far, you have not encouraged it. He thinks very highly of your suggestions, after all. You also had a nice lunch with Mika, and when you mentioned what an excellent mother she would make, you found that gleam in her eye quite interesting indeed. She's not getting any younger and a child would be just the thing to sate her rampant maternal instincts. Not to mention the cement-like quality it has for a marriage. After that, all it took was a pleasant conversation in the boss' office and a few reminders that, although his suspicions were, of course unfounded, Tohma's past history of manipulation is far more extensive than yours. Everyone knows that he's searched to eradicate you from his Eiri-san's life; but to stoop so low…for shame Mr. furry-coat, for shame.   
  
Your own face greets you from the window of a music store as you pass. No matter how many times you see this, it never fails to send a jolt of excitement into your gut. There are times when you still can't believe that you are very close to being the biggest singer in Japan. You knew that if you and Hiro stuck together, you could achieve your dream, although part of you knows that you were Hiro's dream all along.   
  
Or maybe you *are* too self-absorbed. There have been no actual professions from your auburn haired companion, and until such a time it is easy for you to ignore the pained look in his eyes. He is an adult, after all, and you have never kept things from him. He knows what he has gotten into.   
  
You suspect that he never liked Ayaka in the first place, either. You hadn't minded sharing…well…sharing Hiro. It didn't last long though. Perhaps it might have if he'd actually enjoyed her company, and not just the misguided notion that he had taken something from Yuki.   
  
When you reach Hiro's apartment, your legs carry you up the stairs automatically. Not so long ago, it had been your dream to live here with him – just the two of you, still struggling musicians, ordering pizzas and occasionally talking about girls. But that was before. Before NG, before Fujisaki and tour dates…before Yuki. You ring the buzzer and shove your hands into your pockets to wait. Your fingers brush the little circle nestled beside your keys and you remember the lip gloss. Working quickly, you turn your back to the door and sweep the shiny kiwi flavored goo across your bottom lip. You've just pressed them together and screwed the cap on when you hear the door open. Spinning around, you discreetly slip it back into your pocket and smile as brightly as you can. He stands with one arm propped against the doorframe, and he does not look impressed.   
  
"Shouldn't you be at home? I thought you were spending the day with Yuki."   
  
"He's working." You state simply. Hiro knows that you would not be here if you could be with Yuki, and there is no point in lying to him about it.   
  
"I see." He steps aside, but does not say anything. You know this is a silent invitation, and take it, sparing him the blow to his dignity that would come when he asks you inside. It doesn't matter anyways; in his simple gesture, you hear his words loud and clear. 'Please come in before I come out there before I scare my neighbors before I touch you where someone could see before I lose my self-composure.'   
  
And you come in. He looks tired, like he spent the previous night playing video games or writing music and has yet to sleep. You brush a lock of crimson hair from his face and tell him so; but before you can get out the words he grabs your wrist.   
  
"I thought I told you not to come here anymore. Do you have so little respect for my wishes?"   
  
You smile and see his eyes flicker to your lips, soft and shining. Even though he is still holding your wrist, the grip is loose and you stretch out your palm to cup his face. He flinches at first before relaxing into your hand, but still with that fierce look in his eyes.   
  
"Would you really wish me away, Hiro?"   
  
He looks away from you. "That was never the issue. The problem is that I'm always wishing you here…and you never come."   
  
"I'm sorry." You tell him, because you can't say what he wants you to; because you don't want to say nothing at all.   
  
"No. You're not."   
  
The silence permeates the two of you and finally you use your hand to force his gaze back to you. "I'm here now."   
  
The statement is so simple, yet asks all the questions you have not been able to. The questions that would make this unspoken agreement a reality and make you realize that you are the bad guy. 'Will you take me as I am?' 'Will you love me when I cannot, will not love you back?' 'Will you be here always when I come?' 'Will you stay mine when I belong to someone else?'   
  
"Yes" he says.

  
He turns his head to kiss your palm, his grip on you loosening until his arm drops completely. You sigh when his tongue touches your skin and gasp when he sucks your  finger into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it once, letting his teeth drag along skin and bone as it withdraws. Just as you are about to remove it, you curve your finger just so slightly, your nail catching on his teeth and giving a satisfying little 'click'.   
  
Neither of you move for what feels like an eternity. You can feel his eyes boring through you and you're certain that when you leave this apartment you'll find the world has gone on in your decades long absence. Finally, in an explosion of movement, he lunges at you. You fly backwards, hitting the wall. You'd like to contemplate the pain shooting up your spine, but aren't given the time before his mouth is on yours. He tastes clean and slightly minty and you can never be grateful enough for the fact that Hiro doesn't smoke or drink cheap beer. You whimper into his mouth and grasp a handful of red hair in your delicate fingers. You pull forcefully, but Hiro knows by this time that you do not want him to stop. On the contrary, it means something like 'More. Make me bleed. Make me forget. Make me wish that I was yours.' Hiro knows this, and responds accordingly.   
  
He invades your already open mouth with his tongue, snaking a hand down to run along your hip, then thigh. You raise your leg, wrapping around him and crushing his weight against you. Your free hand toys with the hem of his shirt for a moment, before slipping underneath to feel cool skin against your fingertips. The muscles quiver at your touch and you smile, tilting your head to the side and allowing Hiro access to your neck. He nips along your jaw and throat with care; you've argued many times about how important it is that he leave you unmarked.   
  
His voice is raspy in your ear, and you close your eyes, liking the feeling of his breath against your skin. "You're driving me…insane…do you...ughn…know that?"   
  
You think for a moment, and decide that Hiro can't be insane. You think you know what slow insanity feels like and Hiro is your safe house. He's the one sane person in your world and you can't possibly be rubbing off on him. No. It's just. Not. Possible. Because then you'd have to fix things; because then you'd have to leave him. His voice is back against your ear.   
  
"Do you even care?"   
  
You care. You do. You know you do because it hurts so much to be here, and yet it hurts so much to leave. You want to be at home, with Yuki, but Yuki wants to work or sleep, or smoke or do *anything* but just be with you and Hiro wants to do *anything* to keep you and it all hurts so much and you feel yourself suffocating under the weight of it and…and…and…   
  
You need air. You need to breathe. You grip Hiro's hair tighter and lift his face away from you, pushing your hips off the wall. Hiro won't let go of you and somehow, you find this oddly reassuring. He's still gripping your outer thigh and when you push away from the wall, you push into him. Your bony hips grind against his erection and he lets out a startled gasp. He pushes back and soon the two of you are panting and rubbing frantically against one another, your head lolling back and forth against the wall and Hiro's forehead against your shoulder.   
  
Relinquishing your death-grip on his hair, you put your hands to better use, working up underneath his shirt and pulling it up over his head. He is more muscular than Yuki, and certainly more muscular than you. His skin has an olive color and you are always spellbound by sight of him – all sinew and edges. He realized this long ago, and smiles a knowing smile, letting you look at him a moment longer before peeling away your jacket. As you feel the fabric sliding away from your shoulders, his voice is in your ear again.   
  
"What made you come to me that first time, Shu-chan? Surely you knew you could have had me all those years ago…before him. What was it that finally brought you here?"   
  
"I don't…ah…know." You breathe out and do not know if it is a lie. You can remember well the day that you first came here with this in mind, the better part of a bottle of sake in your belly. But your reasoning is as fuzzy now as it was then. You try to concentrate, to remember, but give up when again his cock bumps yours and your head swims with pleasure.   
  
"I think you do." He says against your neck and you can feel him smiling, although there is no mirth in his words. You shake your head as your jacket drops to the floor.   
  
Needing a change of subject, you push him away before grabbing his hand and heading to the balcony doors. He lets you lead him, but gives you a puzzled look.   
  
"It looks like rain."   
  
"I know." You tell him, and slide the door open.   
  
Immediately, you kick off your shoes and socks, liking the slick, cool feel of the concrete under your bare feet. Hiro is already bare-foot and he winces when the chill hits his naked chest. You turn away from him and pull your shirt over your head, tossing it over the railing. Your fingers stray to the buckle of your shorts, but he stops you.   
  
"Let me."   
  
You nod and he slips his fingers into the waist of your pants, using them to pull you hard against him. The lull has not affected him, and he is still hard against your thigh and smiling. A part of you wants to cringe, because you know what that smile means, and a part of you wants to smile back, for the same reason. That smile means he will be rough, so much rougher than Yuki, because he needs to punish you for this to be okay. You know you'll be sore for days, and you'll cry silently when Yuki takes you later, but you say nothing. You need to be punished, and you cannot deny that it sends a thrill directly to your groin at the thought of it.   
  
He is quick with the buttons and zipper, but slow with his hands as he slides them along your flanks, pushing the fabric to pool at your feet. As he steps back, you stumble a bit to follow before kicking the shorts away and facing him in all your glory. He undoes the drawstring of his pants and they simply drop before he steps out of them and kicks them away. You feel the first few raindrops hit your skin and you can't even contemplate going back inside.   
  
You move forward. You want to feel his skin and the rain, but you trip and you just *know* you're going to fall…but he is there to catch you. Together you slink onto the floor of the balcony and suddenly he's over you, his mouth on yours. You kiss him with great intensity because Hiro would never let you fall. You have to thank him. You have to let him know. You have to love him the only way you know and give him what he has already taken because there is nothing else of you to give.   
  
You reach between you and grasp his cock. He starts, but you lick the roof of his mouth to calm him. He growls when you run your thumb over the head, but you pet him with your other hand, smoothing away his hair that runs all around your face, like blood.   
  
He withdraws from your kiss, dragging out your lower lip with his teeth. He is reaching beyond you, into the pocket of your discarded pants. Ah. Yes.   
  
Hiro never keeps lube. To keep it makes the statement that he knows you will be back and that he will let you in. So he doesn't, and you let him keep that idealism. However. After that first time he took you nearly dry and you couldn't sit properly for days, you have always come prepared. The brand is different from what you use with Yuki, thicker. You don't know why you chose it, but it seems to suit your activities well and Hiro has never had any complaints. But then again. He didn't complain when you had nothing, either.   
  
You hear him flipping open the cap, and see the distracted look on his face. You give his erection a particularly hard squeeze to bring his mind back where it should be and he moans. When you hear the lid snap back into place, you take a deep breath. Hiro looms over you, his eyes piercing you with all their questions and promises. 'Tell me this is okay' he's saying with his gaze, 'Remind me that you came here, and not the other way around.' In answer you wantonly spread your thighs.   
  
He thanks you with a nudge against your jaw, the way a puppy would wake its master with an ever loyal, wet nose. He kisses your throat, collarbone and chest. You groan when he grazes his teeth over your nipples, but he doesn't stay long. He keeps moving down, down, down, until he can dip his tongue into your navel and you raise up, hissing. He knows how badly you want him now, and he is content to watch you suffer. His cheek barely grazes the side of your cock and he continues south, placing a particularly hard bite on the inside of your thigh. You lift your head to swear at him, as that will surely bruise, but the words don't make it past your lips because he's got a finger inside you. You gasp, laying your head back down and forgetting what you wanted to say when he brushes that…ah…yes…that spot.   
  
He adds another finger and you bring your own hand up to bite at your knuckles. Surely if you scream the neighbors will hear you and you don't want anyone knocking on the door or calling the police. It hurts a bit…but god…there's something else. You've never been able to place it – that pleasure-pain that feels like fire in your belly – but you know that you'd sell your own mother to make it last. Hiro hits your prostate again and you can't hold back a wail, knocking your head against the floor and not giving a *damn*.   
  
Finally, the third finger and you hear your nails being ripped to shreds against the course concrete as your fingers and toes curl. You push back against him to let him know that you are ready, ready, ready, ready, and suddenly he's over you again. He's still in you and now you have a leg hitched up around him, but his face is just inches from yours, his hair spilling all around you again.   
  
"What do you want, Shu-chan?" He punctuates it with another jab at your prostate.   
  
"Ughn!" Is all you can manage. Still, he is persistent.   
  
"Tell me, Shuichi. Tell me you want me. Just me."   
  
You bite your lip and continue to writhe underneath him. You cannot answer him and he knows this, but still he asks such things of you. You have to fight not to give him what he wants just to keep that fire in your gut and the feel of him between your thighs but you know you can't and you can't and you can't.   
  
But he *is* special. You *do* love him, in your way. And he needs to know. You need to tell him. But you can't say what he wants you to, so you push him away and say "sit in the chair" instead.   
  
He eyes you for a moment, but does as you say, moving to the patio chair and narrowing his eyes a bit when his back hits the cold, wet surface. The rain has picked up, but you don't mind when crawl over to him. Your already-sore-knees scream at you from their spot on the concrete, but you don't mind that either.   
  
Starting at his ankles, your tongue maps out his skin. You never were much of an artist, but somehow, you doubt he cares if your doodles are note worthy since they are drawn upon his calves, knees, thighs. When you reach the hardness between his legs, you give it a nuzzle and hear him hiss. You smile, but pay it no more attention.   
  
Raising up and straddling his lap, you wedge your skinny legs onto the chair on either side of him. He gives you a knowing look and threads his fingers in your hair, pulling you into a kiss. You shift a bit, finding the right angle before setting your weight down and he screams into your mouth as you push him inside you. It's a little uncomfortable, but you think you'll manage and you let more of your weight down, taking more of him in – inch by inch.   
  
His head is thrown back against the chair and you smile. It's been a while since you left him breathless, wordless…questionless. You start to move and he moans. It feels good and you don't want him to get his words back, his questions, his pleas. You go as fast as your hips will let you and lean back as far as you can before snapping forward again. He opens his mouth and you kiss him to keep him from saying anything. This kiss is sweeter than the last few and you can feel his thumb stroking the side of your face when you break for air. Your effort to keep him quiet does no good though, because as soon as he gets his breath back he starts to speak. 

"You taste like kiwi." He says fondly and you don't know what to say, so you don't say anything at all. 

You can feel him hitting that spot inside and you moan a name-you-hope-is-his and see him biting his lower lip and growling and you know it must not have been.   
  
He lifts you up, just to slam you back onto the table that sits beside the chair. Your back is screaming from the impact, but you know you deserve so much worse. He pins your arms above your head and growls at you before delivering a particularly hard thrust meant to punish and nothing more. You wish it worked and let him do it again and again and again and know it shouldn't make you harder…but it does.   
  
He's spitting words at you like venom. You can't make them out through the fog in your brain and the fire inside you, but you know he doesn't mean them. He never does. And afterwards, when he tells you never to come back, but means 'I love you', you'll say okay, but mean 'I'm so sorry' and you will wait until next time to make it up to him.   
  
His thrusts are frantic now, and you know he'll be finished soon. You reach down and wrap your dainty sin-covered fingers around your own cock, knowing he will not touch you now. Where he wanted so much to pleasure you before, he now wants to punish, and you cannot say you blame him. He has never said any name but yours, after all. One would think you'd show him the same courtesy.   
  
After a few moments, you come, biting your lip and gripping him as hard as you can manage. He looks at you contemptuously, and shoves extra hard. You don't mind so much and you stroke his angry face, cooing to him in spite of his ire. "Come for me, Hiro." You tell him. And, biting through the skin of your shoulder, he comes.

The world is out of focus for a long moment, but you think that maybe it's *you* who is out of focus and the world just can't keep up. It's you who's spinning and spinning and spinning and if you could just *stop*…then maybe everything would make sense. Unable to cope with the vortex, you close your eyes and note vaguely the smell of semen and sweat that swims all through your sinuses and into your brain. 

You don't rest long. Hiro throws himself off of you with a grunt and picks up his pants. It is not until he rings them out over the railing that you realize it's still pouring down rain. You get up, struggling to keep your balance, and do the same. He slides open the door silently and you both pad inside, still undressed. There is silence as you start to shove your legs, sticky and wet, into your equally wet shorts and Hiro looks for dry clothes. When he returns you are fully dressed and you hope your sheepish face says something like 'forgive me'. 

He looks away from you. Takes a deep breath. Runs a hand through his hair. "Don't come here again, Shuichi."

"I'm sorry." You say and wonder where it came from. 

"No. You're not." He says, as he did earlier. And you have to wonder if you are. You feel sorry, you think. You don't want to hurt him. But you keep coming back, and you know it does just that. If your visits were poison (which, perhaps, they are) Hiro would be dead by now (and, perhaps, he is). 

"No. I'm not." You agree. 

You prepare to leave, to go home, to Yuki. Yuki who probably hasn't even noticed you've left, and if he did, most likely did not care. You want to scream at him and ask him why he's doing this to Hiro, because this is all *Yuki's* fault. But you can't. And you *know* it. 

If Yuki's kisses were poison (which, perhaps, they are) you would be dead by now (and, you're certain, you are). 

"Sorry about the marks." Hiro says suddenly, and you finger your shoulder where you know the skin is purple and swollen. 

"Don't be. I'll take care of it."

He looks angry again. "Don't come here if he kicks you out."

And you know it is a lie. You know that the moment you leave, Hiro will take a shower and after he is clean and smells of soap instead of sin, he will sit down and let the water rush all over him – over his head and into his eyes. Then he will start to hope. He will tell himself that he is not sorry for marking your shoulder, your thighs. He will imagine Yuki yelling at you and throwing you into the street. And then he will imagine the look on your face when you show up at his door. He will practice what he'll say to you – how he'll punish you before letting you inside. And after he lets you inside, he will plot on how to keep you there. And you know he is hoping now. 

You don't know if his hopes will come true. 

If Yuki throws you out, you will go to Hiro's. But you doubt that you would stay. 

The door is unlocked and you walk quietly inside. Yuki is *still* working. You doubt he's even left his office once since you left, hours ago. You miss him. But you have to wonder if he was ever really there to begin with. You are soaking wet from the rain and dripping all over the floor, so you make your way quickly to the bathroom for a shower. 

The water is hot and the steam is filling the room. You take off your cold clothes and hang them over a towel rack, before propping a foot up on the sink to examine the bite marks on the inside of your thigh. When the white mist that surrounds your head suddenly goes whooshing away know that the door has been opened and that Yuki is looking at you. Your back is to him and you know he can see both your leg and your shoulder. Fear grips you from a place you've never even known existed within you and you wait. You wait for him to hit you, or yell, or fuck you hard against the wall to reclaim you. And you wait. And you wait. 

And you wait. 

"Let me know when you're done." He says, finally. "I need a shower."

Relief washes over you and you tell him "Go ahead. I'll get in when you're finished."

He moves into the bathroom and takes off his shirt. "Order some food, would you? We can eat, then call it an early night."

You nod. The whole scene seems surreal, in a way, but before you can get out of the bathroom he grabs you and kisses you hard. You melt, as you always do, but then he is pulling away. He runs a finger down your neck and then over your bruised flesh. It is a finger with a purpose and when he touches the bite mark, you bite back a yelp at the pain it shoots through your arm. After another quick kiss, he is in the shower and you stumble from the bathroom, confused. 

Sitting on your shared bed, you breathe in the scent of him and suddenly it all makes sense. Maybe, you think, Yuki said nothing to make up for all the other times he says nothing – all the silences following your 'I love you's and the suffocating stillness that trails your question of 'can we stay here forever?'.

All those times he says nothing at all and you've been waiting for the day he changes that. And you wait. And you wait. 

And now you know you will wait forever. 

He's said nothing about your gross and nearly flaunted infidelity…and now he will say nothing at all. 

You always knew somewhere that Yuki might not change for you…and now…he doesn't have to. 

The End. 

Okay….

I know it was kind of depressing. I'm kind of iffy about it; it's a different style than I usually write. But *please* let me know either way. 

I'm thinking of writing a sequel to it…I dunno…just another one-shot. I might. I might not. 

Anways…hit the button. You know you wanna.

Reika


End file.
